


White, Then Blue

by x_art



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:27:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wintertime in France and Belgium, he’d found, was a lot like wintertime in Maine—long days of white skies just waiting to open up and let it all fall down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White, Then Blue

Haguenau

February 1945

 

..................

 

A plane, too high to be identified, crawled across the pale sky in a painfully slow arc. When it got about thirty degrees above the horizon, it dropped behind a pile of dirty-white clouds and vanished from view.

As it disappeared, Les wondered if it had made it to its destination or if it had been downed by the Germans, if it was even an Allied plane to begin with? He shivered, not entirely because of the cold, and listened for the telltale deep boom of cannon fire. Except for the muted conversation behind him, the air stayed silent.

He turned and picked his way back to the remains of a stone wall and sat down.

Wintertime in France and Belgium, he’d found, was a lot like wintertime in Maine—long days of white skies just waiting to open up and let it all fall down.

It was probably pretty when it was full summer and waist-high with wheat or whatever grain they grew. Now, the field before him was criss-crossed with ruts and holes from heavy machinery. Tanks, most likely. There was barely any ground that wasn’t torn up—the farmer living in the tiny house some distance away had his work cut out for him. If he and his family were even still around. If the war ever ended and the soldiers all went home.

He looked up again.

The day had started out clear, but the clouds were moving fast and he guessed that by noon his sunny day would be gone. He was used to cold winters, but this was different and the never ending _sameness_ was starting to eat at him. He didn’t know why, but for the last few weeks when he looked up, he felt uneasy, as if the sky was just too big or too white or something.

He was afraid that if he didn’t get one entire day of blue sky, he’d lose it. Break down in front of his pals and then he’d just be one of those guys that the other guys talked about in not-so-hushed voices: A replacement that couldn’t take what the Germans dished out.

So far, he had managed to keep everything together, just barely, although at times, he felt like a leaky boat, just waiting for the next big wave that would take him down. He worried the other boys would find out that although he’d volunteered for the paratroops and made it through training well enough, he still didn’t know what he was doing. That he felt so big and clumsy and scared all the time. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten killed the first time he dropped into action.

Tony insisted that everyone was scared, that it was just a matter of handling the fear and he had nothing to worry about. Les supposed he was right. If he could read minds, he’d probably find out all of the men had their own worries and anxieties, even Sergeant Randleman, as far-fetched as it might seem.

He knew Tony had his own moments of doubt and fear, but from what he could see, Tony had gotten over them so fast they might as well have not existed. But that was Tony for you: quick on his feet, quick with his mind. Les had long since stopped envying him, and instead had taken to admiring him more than he liked to admit, more than was good for him.

And that was another thing that was starting to eat at him, his biggest secret of all. The fact that when he wasn’t thinking about staying alive and being hungry, he was thinking about Antonio Garcia and what a good guy he was. That he had a really good singing voice and was really nice to look at. That just being near him caused an ache deep inside that had been feeling wrong for a while now.

He and Tony had been friends from the start, clear back in Georgia. Looking back, Les couldn’t remember a time in the army when Tony wasn’t by his side. They ate together, trooped together and slept as close as possible together. The other men, of course, had noticed and were quick to make with the comments or poke fun, calling him Jonathan to Tony’s David.

Les tried to ignore them, telling himself it was no good protesting because making a big deal of it would cause more of a commotion then if he just left it alone, but it was hard. Especially when Roy Cobb got going. Cobb was the worst. He was always joking about Tony’s good looks, going on about his eyes and his face, only it didn’t seem like joking. And every time Cobb called Tony _pretty boy_ under his breath, Les felt like punching him in the nose.

But then, Cobb also made a point of talking down Tony’s background and Hashey just chalked that up to ignorance. So what if Tony was Mexican? It didn’t seem to hurt him. Les thought he was a much better soldier than most of the other replacements, and it was probably a good thing, being able to speak two languages. Les had never spent much time with anyone not like him, and Tony was a fascinating enigma with his brown skin and bright eyes. Les loved it when he talked in Spanish. No matter what he said, it always sounded more exciting and interesting in Spanish.

One day he was going to ask Tony to teach him some phrases. He’d already learned a few words, but not enough to really talk with Tony like he wanted. Not only would it piss off Cobb, not knowing what he and Tony were talking about, but he liked the idea that they could talk together without most of the other men knowing what they were saying. Like they had their own private language or something.

So, they took care of each other, defended each other, and watched each other’s back. Now, when Les was on patrol with someone else, or if didn’t see Tony for a few days, he felt odd, like a part of him had gone missing or he had an itch he just couldn’t get to. He’d grown used to Tony being around and the idea of him getting hurt or dying on some frozen field in Europe…

The memory of the previous night, of walking into the aftermath of a patrol gone bad, finding out that Jackson hadn’t made it and that Tony, still wet and shivering, had been dumped into the river because of Roy Cobb…

He was still angry and still unsure what to do with his anger. It wasn’t Tony’s fault that Cobb was an incompetent ass. And it wasn’t Tony’s fault that for a few minutes he was exposed on that river bank, vulnerable to any sniper that happened to look over to the Allied-held side of the river. They were soldiers. They were pretty much in danger the entire time.

Les knew all that, but he couldn’t help reliving the scene. Couldn’t help the tiny anger that said that Tony should have been more careful, should have known better. Even now, the anger and fear he’d been keeping at bay all morning coiled in his gut and he tamped it down. Again.

“Hashey!”

He sighed and raised his hand without turning around. Speak of the devil. “Hey.”

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” Quick footsteps and then Tony was by his side. He sat down on the wall, facing the opposite direction and leaned against Les’ arm. “You never know who might be out there in that field.”

“Garcia, there’s no one out there in that field.” He rolled his eyes. “The Germans would have to be very invisible or very, very small to be out there in that field.”

Tony smiled and leaned in a little harder, pushing against Les, making his entire right side _feel._

“Besides,” Les added, suddenly desperate to make conversation because he just as suddenly felt lightheaded and weird, “the Sarge knows I’m here. I told him I was going for a walk.”

“Just to get away, huh?” Tony laid his rifle on the wall and tilted  his face to the sun.

The weak light that made it past his helmet glanced off his mouth and chin and Les wondered if his skin could be as warm as it looked. If he reached out and ran a finger down Tony’s cheek from his eyebrow to his lips, would that warm his own cold fingers?

He cleared his throat and clenched his hands on his thighs in an effort to stay still and not touch. He’d had a few such lightning-quick fantasies before but none so clear, none so explicit. “Guess so.”

He wanted to say more, wanted tell Tony how glad he was that he’d made it through the patrol unhurt, that he’d like to kill Cobb for putting him in danger, but mostly that he was confused over his conflicting desires. One part wanted to shake Tony within an inch of his life for scaring him so bad, and the other part wanted to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go.

But of course, he wouldn’t do either. He’d never hurt Tony and he knew that if he said even a little about the feelings that were forming and consolidating in his mind, he’d spill it all, and he couldn’t have that. He wasn’t under any delusion about how Tony would react to such a confession.

Tony crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “So how come you skipped breakfast? Randleman said you ran out without eating.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Tony laughed, his white teeth catching the light. “You? Not hungry? The world must be ending.”

Les just shook his head and shrugged. Sometimes Tony was too good at figuring him out—he was going to have to watch himself, make sure he gave nothing more away.

Tony was staring at him now, his smile changing to a something like worry. Finally shaking his head, he nudged Les again and picked up his rifle. “C’mon, we gotta get back. They’re talking about another patrol tonight.”

“Again?” Les swung his legs over the wall and gathered his gear. The knot in his belly tightened at the thought of Tony going out again, maybe to get shot up this time.

“Yeah. Word is that Sink wants more intel even though Nixon supposedly couldn’t use what they got last night.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, but what are you going to do?”

Les shook his head and said nothing. He knew what he’d like to do, but it would get him in trouble, and probably get Tony in trouble. He couldn’t very well go ask Captain Winters to keep Tony in quarters, safe and sound because Les didn’t want to spend another night like the one before: patrolling the streets of Haguenau, listening to the gunfire on the other side of town, worried sick and desperate to hide it.

Shouldering his rifle, he followed Tony over the broken rubble that littered the streets, carefully keeping a few steps behind, his eyes never leaving Tony’s back.

........

“Hashey.” Randleman was a gray bulk against the gray night; only his helmet caught the faint light from the waning moon.

“Hey, Sergeant Randleman. What’s up?”

“Just coming by to see how you’re doing. Skinny will be by soon to relieve you.”

“Thanks, sir.” It wasn’t quite twenty-one hundred and Les still had a few minutes to go but the patrol, so far, had seemed endless. He’d spent the hours walking as softly as possible so he could hear any movement on the river side, while running through lines from his favorite books in an effort to keep his mind occupied. Struggling to keep his voice as neutral as possible, he asked, “The patrol going out tonight, sir? I haven’t heard from anyone.”

Bull shook his head. “They called it off. Garcia asked if he could come tell you, but I sent him to bed early. The boy had a hard night last night.”

A wash of cool relief made Les giddy and he couldn’t help a broad smile. “He sure did, Sergeant. They all did.”

“Yeah.” Bull shifted his rifle from side to side and scanned the ground for a moment. “Hashey…” He stopped and shifted his rifle again.

The pause was too long, and a small, sick jolt lurched through Les’ body as he waited for Randleman to find the words he seemed to be searching for. “Yes, Sergeant?”

Bull finally shook his head again, straightened and said, “Nothing. It’s nothing. You have a good night and stay sharp, hear?”

Les nodded, confused anxiety making way for confused relief. “Yes, sir, I will, sir.”

Bull patted his arm and walked off, keeping to the shadows of the blown out buildings.

Les stared after him, wondering what the sergeant really wanted to say. It was probably nothing. Just because Les lived with a few secrets didn’t mean everyone knew he had them.

Deciding he was better off not knowing what Randleman couldn’t say, he turned south, making for the final loop of his route.

He was just finishing up when he heard the muffled crunch of boots over debris. His relief, right on time.

Skinny was yawning, but he nodded hello and softly asked, “How’s it been?”

“Quiet. Nothing to report.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

They smiled at each other and Les waved a hand as he took off, eager to be off his feet and in bed. He didn’t hope to speak to Tony; it would be enough just to pass by his bunk and see him lying there, safe and sound.

The makeshift barracks were empty except for Sergeant Martin and Sergeant Randleman in the outer room, hunched over the tiny table, talking softly. They both shut up when Les walked in, but then nodded and went back to their conversation. Wondering if they were talking about him, Hashey thought he should be worried about it, but he was too tired. He’d worry about it in the morning.

Their quarters were quiet, all the men sound asleep. Even Cobb wasn’t snoring, which was cause enough for celebration in Les’ book. The man irritated awake and asleep—living with him was like living with a burr in your boot.

Treading carefully by the row of bunks, Les slowed as he got to his section, peering down to see if Tony was all right.

As if on cue, Tony woke and smiled up at him. “Hey.” His voice was rough with sleep and his hair was sticking up.

A rush of tenderness gripped Les as he crouched by the bed. Another quick fantasy of smoothing back the curl that fell over Tony’s forehead made his face burn and he whispered, “Hey. Heard you got a reprieve.”

Ramirez rolled over, huffing a small grunt, and they both looked over and turned back to grin at each other.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it in the morning.” Still smiling, Tony turned on his side and closed his eyes.

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

“You too.”

Propping his rifle against the wall next to Tony’s, Les tossed his helmet on the bed and pulled himself up to his berth. His sleeping bag and blankets were already spread out—Tony’s doing, no doubt—and it only took him a moment to get settled in.

He drew a deep breath which turned into a long sigh. Disaster had been averted. Or rather, subverted, he thought as he turned restlessly in the confining bag. He knew he’d have to do something about the anger still held tight in his belly, but for now, he’d just let himself enjoy the momentary peace, happy that they’d both lived through the day. For now, it would have to be enough.

 

.........

Sturzelburg

.........

 

“C’mon chicken, we haven’t got— Hey!” Les jerked back his arm and sucked the back of his hand where the frightened hen had pecked him. Tony, farther down on the line of roosts, was bent over laughing, and Les glared at him, making him laugh even harder.

“Hashey,” Tony snorted, “you’re supposed to pull the egg out, not attack the poor chickens.” Cradling his helmet in the crook of his arm, Tony carefully reached under the next wary hen, pulling out a perfect brown egg. He shot a triumphant glance at Les and moved on to the next bird.

Les looked down at his empty helmet and sourly hoped that Perconte and Luz were doing a better job of collecting breakfast than he was. By the time he and Tony were done, it would be noon and he was too hungry to wait until then. “Isn’t this enough? We don’t have to feed the entire regiment, you know.”

“No, we don’t, but it would be a nice treat for the guys. Aren’t you sick of powdered eggs?” Tony looked back at him, one eyebrow arched in inquiry.

Jamming his helmet back on his head, Les retreated to the open barn door. “I’m sick of everything,” he muttered, hoping Tony would hear, hoping he wouldn’t. The last few weeks had been refreshingly sunny, but even that hadn’t brightened his mood.

Each day since Haguenau had wound him tighter and tighter until he felt like a bomb, waiting to go off. His fantasies, vague and unformed, had taken definite shape and he’d taken to avoiding Tony when he thought he wouldn’t notice, trying not to be obvious, but needing to stay away. So far it was working; Tony noticed nothing and that only made Les angrier.

“What is it with you these days?”

He jumped to find Tony a few feet away. “Don’t do that!”

“Don’t do what?” Tony shook his head, peering up as if Les had just asked him to solve some complex math problem. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong. It’s been wrong for a while. Since Haguenau. The Sarge told me you’ve been jumpy lately. Said you haven’t been sleeping well, either.” He was frowning now, worry clear in the curve of his mouth. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Les scowled at the barnyard, glad no one else was around to hear them. “Randleman’s getting awful chatty these days. I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. He could feel the anger corroding his defenses and he wished for a thunderstorm or a troop of German invaders. Anything to head Tony off at the pass. He turned to leave but Tony grabbed his arm, pulling him around.

“No, you’re not, Hashey, you’re not fine. You’ve been angry for a while and you’re avoiding me and I want to know why.”

“It’s nothing. It’s…” He broke off and yanked his arm out of Tony’s grasp, furious at himself for not being strong enough to keep a lid on his emotions, furious at Tony for not leaving it alone.

“Like hell it is! Will you look at me?” Tony was angry now, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing. Dropping his helmet, he grabbed Les’ arms and pushed him up against the barn door, using his body as a weight to hold Les immobile.

Shocked into stillness, Les could only stare down at Tony, any words of explanation stuck in his throat. Anger gave way to want, and heat raced from his toes on up. It was wrong but he could feel Tony, from knees to shoulders, hard and soft at the same time. Ordering his body to behave, begging his mouth to say something, he stood paralyzed as he silently willed Tony to step away and let him be.

“Les, c’mon. I just want to know why you don’t talk to me anymore.” Tony’s anger had died and in its place was a bewildered hurt. “Aren’t we pals?”

“No! I mean, yeah, we’re friends, I just…” And he couldn’t help himself; he brought his arms up in a slack embrace, knowing that everything he felt for Tony, everything he had been trying to hide, was tumbling out. “I just… Tony. Tony.”

There was a moment of nothing as confusion swept across Tony’s face, but Les could see the second confusion was replaced with a surprised understanding. Still grasping his arms, Tony’s mouth dropped open and he said, “Oh. Oh…” He let go and moved back, his expression blank. Quietly, he asked, “It was Haguenau, wasn’t it. What happened?”

Les couldn’t look away, caught by the directness of Tony’s gaze. “You fell into the river.” It was a relief to finally say it.

Frowning again, Tony asked, “The river? So what?”

“You _fell_ into the river.”

Tony’s expression changed; it looked like he was trying not to laugh. “That was what, four feet of water? Les, I hate to tell you, but I know how to swim; there was no way I was going to drown.”

“ _Damnit_ , don’t you think I know that?” And now the anger was back, biting and bitter, and he pushed away to move restlessly around as if fury itself was driving his body. “It wasn’t the river, it wasn’t… It was because you… you were out there, exposed, with no one but that asshole Cobb to watch your back.”

Les started to run his hands through his hair, forgetting about his helmet. Tearing it off, he threw it across the barn, scattering the chickens all over again. “It was just… I was…” Rubbing his forehead, he mumbled, “I just can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. It makes me sick to think of it.”

“So why are you PO’d at me?”

Les sank back against the barn door, tired and worn out. “I’m not. I mean, I was… But now I’m not. Really.” He tried again. “I guess I was just scared.”

Tony kicked his helmet, frowning as the eggs rolled into the muck on the barn floor. “And you don’t think I’m scared also? That it would kill me if you got it?” He shrugged and touched the strap of Les’ harness. “You’re my best friend. I thought you knew that.”

“I know.”

“I know what the guys used to tease you about. I know what they thought, that you and I…” Tony avoided Les’ glance and reached around to pick at the weathered wood of the barn door. “I never minded except that I minded for you. And you never said anything about it, so I figured it bothered you. That you were embarrassed that I…” He broke off and peered up at Les, frowning.

It took Les a long moment to decipher the meaning behind Tony’s cautious words and then it was his turn to weakly say, “Oh,” as his stomach jerked into his throat and his world turned upside down.

The light dimmed and the air thickened, like a charge had just dropped nearby, leaving him deaf and blind. He supposed something like it had because Tony’s admission was like shell or maybe like lightning: a strike of something so terrifying and brilliant it left him reeling in the aftermath.

“Does this mean…” he choked out. “I mean, I need you to tell me what you mean, Tony. Are you saying…?” He felt like an idiot, but he had to know he wasn’t misreading the situation.

Tony looked up at him, his lips turned up in a wry smile. “I have no idea what I’m saying. All I know is that I don’t like you avoiding me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I missed you, even though you never went away.”

“Me too.”

The world was righting itself, lending a new strength to his limbs. He pushed away from the door and slowly moved up close to Tony until there was only a small pocket of space between them. “What else?”

Tony cocked his head. “That I like being around you. I like you telling me stories from your books.”

Les’ face was on fire but he held fast, determined not to look away. “What else?”

“You’re going to make me say, aren’t you?” But Tony had lost his frown and there was a teasing glint in his eyes Les had never seen before. “All right. I think about you, think about being with you…”

Les looked out the open door. Even though there was no one in sight, it was stupid and risky but he wasn’t going to stop. Everything that he wanted without even really knowing he wanted it was standing before him saying _yes,_ and there was no way he was going to pass it by. But it hardly mattered because Tony had hold of his sleeve and was already dragging him back into the shadows of the barn until they were in a narrow stall.

Les stepped closer and pressed up against Tony—or maybe it was Tony pressing up against him—and drew a shallow breath then bent to ghost a shaky kiss across Tony’s cheek.

Tony sighed and muttered, “I’m too short for you.”

Les shook his head and bent down a little further, “No, you’re not. You’re perfect. You’re…” He closed his eyes and kissed the corner of Tony’s mouth, mind running every which way again, wondering how far they’d go, worried that Tony would regret this the minute they got back to real life.

And then he stopped thinking because Tony angled his head and opened his mouth enough for Les to taste and instinct took over. He wrapped Tony up, dragging him in tight as he moaned in delight at the heat of Tony’s mouth. Cautiously, he stroked the tip of Tony’s tongue with his own and Tony opened even wider, letting him in.

Another wave of heat raced up his back and he yanked Tony up close, stumbling back to land against the side of the barn. Turning them both, he carefully levered Tony up, bracing him as best he could. Tony wrapped his legs around Les’ hips, his arms around Les’ neck, as if by habit. As if they had been doing this for years and knew every little thing that made the other feel good.

In his most secret fantasies, Les had vaguely decided that if a miracle ever happened and he got Tony alone and in bed, he’d make it good, make it last so long that Tony would never want to leave. But he hadn’t anticipated the heady desire that swept over him, making him crazy with the need to keep on thrusting against the warmth of Tony’s body. That once he got started, nothing on earth could stop him. He would have been terrified if he couldn’t see the twin hunger in Tony’s eyes and he wondered that that if he did try to stop, did try to make them both be patient and wait for a better time, would Tony simply push him down and keep going?

A quick image of Tony on top of him, naked and beautiful and fierce burned his chest and belly and it was the final straw. He tore his mouth away and bit down on Tony’s shoulder, the wool of his jacket shielding his cry as he came.

A second later Tony was mouthing his neck, panting and muttering something in Spanish as his breath caught and stuttered against his own release. Les held him tight, making sure he didn’t let go even though he felt like falling to his knees.

By unspoken agreement, they rested there, propped up against the wall and each other. Tony was still nuzzling Les’ neck, rooting and licking, and Les knew he should be worried about a bite mark, but he couldn’t care. That Tony was so sweet after was something he wouldn’t have hoped for. He rubbed his cheek against Tony’s shoulder and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“ _Que_?”

“Your back. Did I hurt your back?”

Tony tightened his legs and arms around Les. “ _No, viv…_ No, I’ll live.”

Les nodded and buried his face deeper in Tony’s shoulder and breathed in the warm smell of wool, sweat and sex. He was sleepy. His knuckles and the backs of his hands were raw from scraping against the wood. His back was starting to ache from the strain and his right knee felt like he had pulled something that was going to hurt tomorrow.

He had never been so happy in his entire life. 

A loud clucking startled them both, and they looked down and around to find a hen strutting at their feet. Grinning, they pulled apart, Les unlocking his arms and Tony unlocking his legs, each grimacing at their wet shorts.

Smiling, Tony brushed Les down, smoothing the crumpled fabric of his uniform. Les did the same, being as business-like as he could, carefully picking out tiny bits of hay out of Tony’s hair and off his jacket. Wanting to grab Tony again, knowing that if he did they’d start up all over again, Les instead went in search of his helmet, finally finding it wedged under the floor of the chicken roost.

He turned. Tony was crouched in front of the door, humming as he picked up the scattered eggs, gently wiping them off as he replaced them in his helmet. He looked happy, and Les thought, _‘I did that. I put that look on his face.’_ “Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you teach me some Spanish?”

Tony looked up, grinning. He started to answer, then stopped, his grin shifting to a puzzled frown. “Do you think what we did was wrong?”

Any sane man would say _yes, it was_ , because they were in the middle of a war, they’d have to guard their every comment and glance and just the thought of getting caught by someone like Cobb… “No. Do you?”

“My family priest would, but no,” Tony shook his head and picked up another egg. “I don’t.”

Concentrating on digging out a piece of hay that had gotten caught in the lining of his helmet, Les said, “We probably won’t get this chance again.” He knew the minute he said it that it was a lie or at least a bit of misdirection. Like a farmer standing in a drought-ruined field, saying it couldn’t possibly rain any day soon, all the while praying it would.

“Yeah, we will. We’ll figure it out.” Tony held out his hand.

Les pulled him up, letting his arm curve around Tony’s waist for a brief moment before letting him go. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot more than what he’d had thirty-five minutes ago. “Should we get more eggs for the guys?”

“Well, since we scared all the chickens away, now would be a good time.” Tony gestured to the roosts.

Les turned to find that the rest of the chickens were huddled in the far corner of the barn, eyeing them distrustfully. He looked at Tony, Tony looked at him, and they burst out laughing.

Fifteen minutes later they were still grinning, each carrying a helmet filled with eggs, only occasionally bumping hips and shoulders as they made their way back south to Easy.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the episodes The Last Patrol and Why We Fight


End file.
